Vampires' Night Orgy, The (1972)
Starring: Jack Taylor, Dyanik Zurakowska, Helga Line, Jose Guardiola
Director: Leon Klimovsky
Synopsis: wonderfully atmospheric vintage early 70's euro-horror from Spain
Reviewed by: Omar Khan

 This early-'70s Spanish horror offering arrives courtesy of Pagan Video, a label that deserves enormous credit for its tireless efforts in unearthing and releasing some of the world's most obscure—and frequently most fascinating—cult films.

Ironically, this particular DVD has proved to be the company's biggest seller, largely thanks to one eye-catching four-letter word in the title that inevitably attracts curious browsers. Those expecting the promised "orgy" may well leave disappointed, but viewers seeking a richly atmospheric slice of Euro-horror in the tradition of *Tombs of the Blind Dead* should find plenty here to savour.

The story begins with a weary group of travellers enduring an uncomfortable journey aboard a ramshackle old bus that appears only moments away from complete mechanical collapse. Their problems become considerably worse when the unfortunate driver suddenly suffers a fatal heart attack, leaving everyone stranded in the middle of nowhere.

Managing to coax the ageing vehicle a little farther along the road, the stranded passengers eventually discover a sign pointing towards a nearby village where they hope to find food, shelter and perhaps some assistance with continuing their journey.

Instead, they stumble upon a place that appears eerily abandoned.

Although every house seems occupied, not a single inhabitant is anywhere to be seen.

Later, the mysterious villagers finally appear, warmly explaining that they had all been attending a local festival and graciously inviting the stranded travellers to spend the night as honoured guests.

Their hospitality seems almost too generous.

Beneath the smiles and impeccable manners lurks something deeply unsettling.

The village itself is presided over by an elegant Countess, a woman whose gracious charm is matched only by her capacity for unspeakable cruelty. One by one—and occasionally two by two—the unsuspecting visitors discover the horrifying truth behind their hosts as they meet increasingly grisly fates.

Director León Klimovsky handles the material with considerable style, photographing the village beneath what feels like a permanent blanket of darkness. Even scenes supposedly taking place at midday possess the oppressive atmosphere of midnight. Every street, every doorway and every crumbling stone wall seems steeped in decay and quiet menace.

Several memorable sequences evoke affectionate memories of the *Blind Dead* series, particularly those in which sinister villagers appear to materialise almost magically from cracks in ancient walls before slowly surrounding their terrified victims.

Although the musical score never quite reaches the haunting quality of Antón García Abril's magnificent work for the *Blind Dead* films, Klimovsky more than compensates with a succession of genuinely memorable set pieces.

Among the highlights is a wonderfully macabre dinner-table scene in which an unfortunate finger is discovered floating in a bowl of food, prompting one of the most spectacularly grisly attempts at social damage control ever witnessed in polite company.

Equally enjoyable is the Countess's unforgettable executioner-cum-butcher, who wanders in and out of the proceedings with quiet professionalism, periodically relieving unfortunate visitors of assorted limbs in order to keep the village's rather demanding carnivorous residents suitably well fed.

The result is a deliciously morbid cocktail of cannibalism, shambling cadavers, bloodthirsty beauties, murdered children and an abundance of old-fashioned Gothic atmosphere. Klimovsky even manages to inject occasional flashes of wonderfully black humour without ever undermining the film's oppressive mood.

If there is one genuine weakness, it lies with the occasionally intrusive pseudo-jazz score, which sometimes feels oddly at odds with the surrounding Gothic imagery. Ironically, the scenes played almost entirely without music are often the most effective of all, allowing the silence itself to become deeply unsettling.

Klimovsky also deserves credit for resisting the temptation to interrupt proceedings with the broad, juvenile comedy that weakens films such as *Ossorio*. The horror remains the principal focus throughout, and the film is all the stronger for it.

*Vampires' Night Orgy* may never achieve the hypnotic brilliance of *Tombs of the Blind Dead*, but it nevertheless stands as another handsome, atmospheric and distinctly chilling contribution to Spain's remarkable horror tradition.

For admirers of classic Euro-horror, this is essential viewing—and yet another excellent rediscovery from Pagan Video.